


to a place we'll call home

by Authoress



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build, Youkai Culture, animalistic shenanigans, basically fine runs a circus and shu and co. rescue youkai from them, freak show/circus au, it's me so there's angst, it's the idol war if it were over youkai, sticky human rights issues, until eichi fucks with their happy domestic life ofc, violence will probably feature, wow it sounds really sad but there is sooooo much domesticity, youkai AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 05:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authoress/pseuds/Authoress
Summary: "We're not a rescue agency," Shu says."Okay, but we're kind of a rescue agency," Kuro says.(Sometimes, a flight plan doesn't have wings. Sometimes, the humans you know aren't the humans you keep. Sometimes, a cage is just a bump in the road, and not a final destination. And sometimes, home can be found in the most unexpected of places.)





	to a place we'll call home

**Author's Note:**

> against my better judgment, i started a shumika longfic. i am a fool.
> 
> a few notes before we begin:
> 
> >>this fic takes place in edo period japan. i'm doing my best to research, but i don't have the time or energy to make this an exact replica of historical japan, so please bear with any inaccuracies (but feel free to let me know if you spot glaring errors  
> >>when it comes to enstars, i'm a panini head. i've read a grand total of eight event stories and the main story, so it'll take time for me to feel out characterizations accurately. that being said, this fic will mostly cover those who were a part of marionette/milky way, so i feel pretty confident about them!  
> >>mika starts from zero. from pre-valkyrie. the story i've built for him does not begin happy and as such, he's not the bubbling joyful light we've come to know and love, not at first. he will become it, though.  
> >>this first chapter takes place at a kaichou, specifically a degaichou, an event where buddhist temples are opened up and their sacred objects displayed. it also serves as a festival with food, a market, entertainment, and of course, freak shows

 

With the curtains on his carriage drawn, Mika cannot see the sky.

It is night. The draping arcs of the curtains afforded a slight view of the fairground and the other carriages, the sights of the temple in the background and trees touching the horizon. Mika had watched the sun set not long ago, which means that the show will start soon. The temple viewing often dwindled as night fell and lanterns were lit, and once filled with food from vendors lining the road, the more adventurous villagers would pursue entertainment.

And entertainment, they were.

Mika tilts his head forward, peering at the uppermost point between the curtains, through the tiny window he was afforded. It’s no good; he still can’t tell if there’s enough cloud cover to shield the night sky. Tentatively, Mika wraps his fingers around the bars of his carriage and presses his face to the cold iron. He can’t see much, but the skies look clear. His eyes catch on a single star—the first of the night. It would be a starry night then. He’d be able to see it through the tent.

He shifts backwards, pulling his kosode tighter around himself. A bad night, then. Mika preferred the overcast, the dreary. He preferred it when the tent had to be closed up top and he couldn’t see the sky, or, if he must look upon the sky, he’d prefer to see nothing but the quilt of grey clouds, running together as a watercolor painting, trapping him as well as the top of the tent did. When Mika couldn’t see the moon or the stars in the sky, he thought less about being held captive.

Clear skies also tended to attract more guests, which meant more eyes on him. All around a miserable experience, from climbing on stage to being shepherded off of it and back into his carriage. Children screamed and threw things, and the men and women reached out with filthy hands to try to touch him. Mika curls tighter into himself just imagining it. Another miserable show at another miserable degaichou, then.

Had he been younger and wilder, Mika would had shredded the curtains with his claws, howling and tearing at the heavy red fabric, tearing off tassels with his teeth until some of the handlers came along to silence him. He’d try to bite and claw at them too, if he was lucky, raking his claws across their arm or cutting open their stomach until he was smashed across the face with a fist or a club and cowed, chained against the far wall until the show. A younger Mika would’ve rebelled at the sight of a starry sky that made his muscles ache and his heart throb because freedom was so close, _so close_.

But Mika is older now. After losing two sets of curtains—imported, of course, the Director had expensive taste—they’d taken a heavy knife to Mika’s claws and hacked them off, filed the nails down to harmless nubs that couldn’t  break skin, let alone wreck fabric. They’d tried pulling out his teeth or filing them down too, but Mika had howled and writhed with enough vigor, foaming at the mouth, that they settled on muzzling him instead.

Mika has learned the rules. Don’t bite, don’t claw, don’t put up a fight, go limp when they touch you, obey their orders and they won’t club you across the face, or threaten to cut your fingers off at the knuckle, or slash at your shoulders or your sides when you growl at them. If Mika plays nice, like a little toy puppet and dances the way they tell him to, he gets free range of his carriage and a full ration of food and no one touches him or talks to him or looks at him until showtime.

It’s the best life he can make of this. He’ll always wear the iron cuff around his ankle, and it’ll always be linked to a wall or a handler, but Mika makes do with what little freedoms he’s earned. And anyway, the curtains obscure him from the eyes of too-curious handlers who may peer into his carriage to see what oddity laid within.

Well. Not all of them chose to be docile like him, though.

There’s a commotion in the clearing behind the big tent. Mika hears the shouts of the hired muscle mingle with a growl that rumbles like distant thunder, strong enough to make the dirt shake. It’s a familiar sound. Mika creeps to the corner of his carriage and away from the noise, eyeing the clearing warily. It doesn’t take long for the commotion to take center stage.

In between the shadows cast by the carriages in the torchlight, ten men wrestle with a great beast. The creature takes the form of a massive wolf, dark grey fur matted and clumpy, so caked in dirt that the darker black markings running down his sides and his legs and striping his muzzle are all but concealed. When he throws back his head, his muzzle passes over the tops of the carriages. He snarls and digs his heels into the dirt, thrashing his head back and forth and tail lashing. The torchlight catches on wide, golden eyes and Mika shrinks back at the unadulterated rage concealed within.

“Sit!” snaps one of the handlers. He’s the one up front, a hand wrapped around the heavy chain pulled taut and connected to a loop at the base of the muzzle strapped around the wolf’s jaw and running around his head.

In defiance of all probability, the wolf sits. Of course, with his ass pressed firmly into the dirt, there’s no way to drag him across the clearing. A vein in the leader’s head pulses. The wolf pulls back his lips in a grin and lets out a low rumble.

Aside the leader, four men tug at two chains attached to the collar the wolf wears around his neck. They succeed in tugging the wolf’s neck forward, but he remains seated and grinning through the cage of his muzzle. The leader waves a hand and behind the wolf, the remaining five men holding sharpened iron rods prod at the wolf’s back and hindquarters, hard enough to draw blood.

The wolf jumps to his feet and snaps at them, wrenching the men in front off their feet. They tumble forward and the men behind raise their spears towards the wolf’s face. He kicks out with his back leg and knocks two off their feet, taking out the other three’s weapons with the flick of his tail. Up front, the leader and his men give a coordinated tug of the wolf’s chains and he stumbles forward, head snapping forward again. He snarls and shakes his head, warring with the leader for control of his head.

“Behave, mutt!” the leader roars. “Or do you want us to paint your sides with blood _again_?”

The wolf snarls louder, baring yellow teeth, his lips pulling away from his gums entirely. He paws at the ground, a challenge, and behind him, the men with iron rods brace themselves. Mika shrinks back into himself, bracing for the fight.

“Mmm, you’re too lively tonight, Wan-chan,” a new voice joins the commotion. A thin man with dark hair melts from the shadows, rubbing his eyes. “I was having a wonderful dream and you woke me with all your growling.”

“Sakuma,” the leader grunts. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Ritsu waves a hand. “I’m not on until later. And besides, you were running out of ideas on how to calm him, weren’t you?”

“It’s under control,” the leader says.

The wolf snaps his head up and yanks all three chains from the hands of the men. He looks back down on them, head tilted, and snorts.

“I see,” Ritsu says.

“Fucking mongrel—” one of the men spits, grappling for the chain.

“Nuh-uh,” Ritsu says. “That’s not how you do it.”

He walks up to the wolf who levels an unimpressed look at him.

“C’mere, Wan-chan,” Ritsu says, holding his hands up. “Won’t you be a good boy and roll over nicely for me?”

 _Even if it’s you, Ricchi, I’ll bite._ The wolf’s telepathy rings out throughout the surrounding area. _And stop callin’ me by that ridiculous nickname! I’m a wolf, hear me? A wolf!_

“Lay a single nail on the Director’s favorite and you’ll be in for worse than a little bloodshed, Oogami,” the leader of the handlers says.

“He won’t bite,” Ritsu says, motioning for Koga to lower his head. “Even the most rebellious pups will listen to their alpha.”

“That one? Obey the Director’s orders?” The leader laughs. “You really are just a stupid child, aren’t you?”

“Mmm? When did I say anything about Ecchan?” Ritsu says. “Wan-chan doesn’t care what Ecchan wants. He listens to his _master_ , not to Ecchan.”

Koga lowers his muzzle to Ritsu’s outstretched hands and Ritsu scratches under his chin through the bars of the muzzle. _You’re lucky they’ve got me locked up like this,_ Koga says. _If it wasn’t for this muzzle, I would’ve taken an arm as compensation for this humiliation._

“Stop yapping,” Ritsu says. “Only little doggies yap pointlessly to make themselves seem bigger. You’re making a fuss for no other reason than you don’t want to peacefully go along with Ecchan’s orders. We both know you’re not going to hurt these men.”

“Don’t tell me,” the leader says, curling his lip. “The mutt takes orders from you?”

“No,” Ritsu says. “Are you dumb or something? He only listens to Anija. And Anija won’t let him hurt me. I’m basically invincible when it comes to Wan-chan, see?” Ritsu flicks his bangs out of his face. “Well, it’s not like I need Anija’s help or anything.”

“If you’re so high and mighty, then tell him to get his ass to the bathing station,” one of the other men says. “We’re tired of fighting with him.”

 _Bite me,_ Koga says, sneering.

“No way,” Ritsu says in a singsong voice. “I have to get back to the makeup tent, you know? Weren’t you the ones telling me I’m late? See ya.”

He slinks off in the direction of the makeup tent, but not before he turns around, walking backwards, and cups his hands around his mouth. “Oh yeah, I nearly forgot. Wan-chan, you’re pretty smelly, so maybe you should actually take a bath for once. Just saying.”

 _Why you little—_ Koga snarls. _You won’t be actin’ so high and mighty once I chew you up like a dog toy! Oi, Adonis, you hearin’ all this?_

A voice from a few carriages down from Mika’s pipes up. “It’s the truth though, isn’t it? We can’t make a move unless Sakuma-san tells us to. We’re to be compliant until he orders otherwise.”

Koga whines. _Oh, c’mon. I thought you at least would be on my side. Jeez, this fucking sucks!_

“Must be nice to be carefree enough to make plans in front of your enemy,” the leader says. He tugs on Koga’s chain. “Come on. Time’s wasting. We’re getting your fluffy ass to the bathing station with or without your bloodshed. It’s up to you, mutt.”

 _Shuddup,_ Koga says. _The moment that vampire bastard tells us to unleash hell, you’ll be the first one I eat_.

He follows along with them anyway, his hackles and the fur along the length of his back raised. Mika watches him go, the glow in his eyes saying that this restraint was temporary—always temporary.

 _But what will you do when it comes time for you to break free?_ Mika wants to ask him. _When they have hired enough men to tie down your limbs and cut you open until you’re too weak to fight anymore, then stitch you back up? When they have enough charms and spells and seals to trap you in your human form and repress your magic, make you as weak as one of them? What will you do, when they remove every escape and counter every trick until you’re chased, weary and beaten, back into your cage?_

Koga’s ears perk up and he lifts his head. _Who said that?_ He asks. He whips his head around.

Mika shrinks back, covering his mouth. Crap, he’d projected too much! Could Koga tell it was him who’d said it? His back muscles shift and Mika draws his wings out from behind him. Slowly, he conceals himself beneath black feathers, tucking his wings close against his body and melting into the shadows of the carriage. He keeps his hands over his mouth and cats his eyes down, hair falling into his face.

“Who said _what_ , you big dumb brute?” the leader says. “Stop slowing us down and take your damn bath.”

 _My ears are sharper than yours, fuckwit_ , Koga says. Then, softer: _Maybe I’m just hearing things_.

Mika remains curled in his corner well after Koga and the men pass through the circle of carriages. He hears the murmur of low voices and the pad of sandals across the dirt. There are the clicks of locks being turned and the ugly screech of metal as carriages are opened. The jangle of chain links rattling against each other. The same words, over and over: _it’s your turn, follow me, don’t put up a fight and I won’t have to hurt you_. Around him, carriages are opened and the occupants are led out one by one.

Mika hears the click of his own lock too close and he skitters across the wooden floor of the carriage, dulled nails clicking  and chain clanking as he flees to the far corner of the carriage and presses himself flat against it, wings pressed tightly to his back. He can hear his heart beat in his throat. The door to his carriage opens and the handler reveals herself.

Mika’s heartbeat slows. It’s one of the women, not the rough men who tug on his chain and yank him, ankle-first, out the door, shoving him towards the costume tent. This woman holds up a lantern and he can see the frown wrinkle her brows.

“You’re always like this, aren’t you?” she says. “What kind of youkai cowers in the back of his cage like that? Shouldn’t you snarl or attempt to flee or hurt me?”

Mika doesn’t respond, just presses further into the corner.  

The woman sighs. “Come on. It’s your turn. I’m not going to hurt you, and I don’t want to drag you out of here, so come quietly, won’t you?”

Mika lowers his eyes. The chain tinkles as he shifts his position. He creeps forward slowly, closing the distance between him and the woman. When he reaches the door of his carriage, he shrinks away from the lantern but lowers himself the ground. Unconsciously, he digs his stubby nails into the dirt. The feeling of dirt under his feet instead of the straw and wooden planks was the only welcome experience that came with performing.

The woman reaches forward and clips a new chain to the loop of Mika’s collar, this one of heavy leather rather than metal. She leans down to unlock his ankle chain. Mika doesn’t watch this—he looks to the sky to see that hundreds of stars have joined the first. It’s one of the starriest nights he’s seen in many years. Bad, bad luck. Mika shuffles his wings and pins them tighter to his back, beneath the kosode.

“Alright,” the woman says. “You know the drill by now, don’t you?”

Mika nods.

The woman gives him a long look. “Sometimes, you youkai really look human,” she says. “When you’re not dressed up like you are on stage, I could almost mistake you for another person on the street.”

 _If you feel that way,_ Mika thinks. _Then let me go_.

She puffs her cheeks and exhales. “Not with those eyes, though. No human I’ve ever known has eyes like yours. You’re lucky to be here—you’d be hunted and killed as a demon for eyes like those if you were free.”

Mika looks down, hair falling in his face and bangs covering his eyes. Of course.

“Let’s go, youkai,” the woman says. “The bosses’ll be mad if I’m late with you.”

She doesn’t even need to tug on his chain. She was right after all—there was nowhere he could go, even if he was free.

 

\----------------------------------------

From the chiming of the bell up in the temple to the sizzle of meat and vegetables cooked over fires behind the vendors’ stands, the degaichou had every appearance of a festival. Paper lanterns line the road leading to the temple and up its steps, breaking off into aisles of vendors selling food or clothes or toys or advertising games for children. Dressed in patterned kimonos, the children run barefoot or in sandals, kites and miniature koinobori streaming behind them. Adult couples in muted colors of kimono and hakama and haori trail behind the children, the wives picking out clothing and goods from the market booths while the husbands pick out food to sample between the two of them. Off to the side, two merchants bicker over the prices in their booths.

The smell of meat and spices mingle with the fresh smell of new growth in the trees and flowers—spring has only just begun and the nights still get chilly, but there’s barely the stirring of a breeze and with torches and lanterns and cooking fires lit outside the temple, the atmosphere and air are filled with warmth. Conversation bubbles like a stream in between the rows of vendors, rising to meet the soft clanging of the bell as the visitors pay their respect to the temple.

Closer to the structure itself, the priests mill about the visitors, showing off sacred objects kept away from the public except for on special nights like these. Scrolls and sculptures, paintings and masks—each one has a story and a blessing, spoken of in hushed tones by the priests, quiet enough that even the children clinging to their parents’ robes quieted down, and all the listeners leaned in to hear.

And beyond the temple, off to the right, a tent as big as the temple itself and almost as tall. And not just a solitary tent—around the tent smaller offspring sprung up, the men and women working diligently to raise the fairground from the ashes in under an hour. It is this fairground that catches the attention of the visitors, keeps them from leaving just yet. Earlier in the day, barred carriages with curtains drawn had passed through the village, catching the eye of every man and woman and child. The horses were dark and quiet, the entire procession strange and secretive. Some swore they heard growls or moans from within the barred enclosures. But all eyes followed them to the temple, where they found their final resting place.

Those who had seen this procession before nodded and murmured, “It’s the freak show.”

“ _fine_ ,” they were called, written in elegant, exotic script that most of the villagers couldn’t read. That name, _fine_ , decorated the outside of every tent and carriage. The English lettering promised something unusual and exciting, in the same way their posters did:

“ _fine_ —A Circus Of Living, Breathing Youkai, Tamed & Trained For Your Viewing Pleasure. Beware: The Creatures You Will See Are Real, Beautiful, & Frightening To Behold.”

The massive billboard outside the fairground portrays a beautiful, fair-haired man with impeccable bone structure dressed in all white, Western-style clothing waving a baton at a massive, patterned wolf as it jumps through a fiery hoop. The wolf’s jaws are parted in a roar and the man conducting the act is smiling, as if about to laugh, blue eyes glittering. The artist who painted the billboard clearly knew what they were doing.

Shu scowls, clicking his tongue. “Tenshouin.”

Yes, the degaichou was quite the exciting festival for a little town like this one, especially with the legendary circus of freaks featuring at this particular event. There was a reason that most of the guests were filtering into the big tent after perusing the market and the temple’s artifacts, children with wide eyes and adults exchanging glances with raised eyebrows. This was just another entertainment spectacular along with the festival.

But Shu, Shu was only here for the circus.

Shu marches across the fairground towards the ticket tent in front of the big top. He makes sure to stab his cane into the dirt with every stride he takes, scowling as he approaches. Dressed in Western clothing, Shu draws as much attention as the collection of tents himself. His coat is a bold, wine red with a white jabot, golden buttons winking in the torchlight. He wears trousers from Holland and Italian leather loafers, his cane has a many-faceted crystal crowning it, and his hat is tall and studded with black feathers. Shu has every appearance of a foreigner that somehow stumbled upon a little town such as this, but his facial structure is distinctly Japanese.

Of course, that’s no more strange than the men in Western clothing leading the circus, so most glances pass over him as another member of the cast. Some mothers point him out to their children, believing him to be a performer. Naturally, this makes Shu scowl harder.

He pushes through the ticket tent flap, other villagers making way for him. He marches up to the ticket collector and drives his cane into the ground in front of him.

“Fushimi,” Shu greets. “I see Tenshouin has yet to tire of this barbaric game.”

“Ah, Itsuki-sama,” Yuzuru greets in return. “You’ve shown up for yet another one. You can go on ahead—no need to pay.”

“As if I would,” Shu sniffs. He glances around. “Where’s the little one you like so much?”

“The young master has forsaken my presence in favor of the youkai,” Yuzuru says. “He quite enjoys playing with them, and Tenshouin-sama will only allow him to interact with them before shows when we are traveling.”

“‘Play with,’” Shu grunts. “You mean torment, to the point where it may be considered torture.”

“The young master is…a bit rough,” Yuzuru says. “But he would never permanently damage any of Tenshouin-sama’s precious collection. And pets could do with a little training, after all.”

“Unbelievable,” Shu says. “You lot really are the scum of the earth.”

Yuzuru smiles. “Itsuki-sama, if you don’t mind me asking…why do you continue to attend our shows, if they upset you so much?”

“Who else is going to protest your vile lack of humanity?” Shu says. “Until the day comes that someone younger and freer than I comes along to keep tabs on your cruelty, I will have to suffice.”

“As you wish,” Yuzuru says, bowing. “Enjoy the show.”

“I will do no such thing,” Shu says, marching past him and into the tent.

The magic of the circus—the inside is even bigger than it appears on the outside. At the center, a raised stage covered by a glittering purple sheet. And around the stage, blankets were laid out for guests to sit on. Much of the blanket space was already taken, leaving only the less desirable seats further back and the stacks of boxes at the very back as seating. Shu scans the area for viable seating, ignoring the stares he receives. His body is tense from the press of people around him. Really, these circuses couldn’t get any worse—

“Shu!” A man with long, light blue hair tied back into a bun and wearing a glittery mask waves enthusiastically at Shu.

—Until they did get worse. Shu pretends not to see the increasingly frantic waves and makes his way towards the other side of the tent. He makes it no more than seven steps before he’s stopped by a clap on the shoulder and the excitable man is at his side.

“Amazing! You really came again!” he exclaims. “Our performances are _most_ entertaining, I must say, but for one as cynical and cold as you to be such a devout fan? Truly, we must be doing something incredible here!”

“Wataru,” Shu greets, stabbing him in the foot with his cane. “I see you’re unbearably…you…as usual. If you’re around, Tenshouin can’t be far. Where is he? I would like to say hello with my fist.”

Wataru throws back his head and laughs. “Violence? That’s quite unlike you, Shu. I see you’re really taking after Kuro-kun. How is he, by the way? Our dearest Keito-kun misses him so.”

Shu sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Out of all of people I could’ve run into…really, you’re the worst. Do me a favor and never speak to me again.”

“Shu, I’m hurt!” Wataru says, clutching his chest. “I thought we had something special! And here I was, about to offer you the best seat in the house…”

“ _Why_ ,” Shu says.

“Only the best for our biggest fan,” Wataru says, winking. “There’s an elevated seat in the back—excellent viewing and away from the press of the crowd. You’re not fond of people, are you?”

“That seat is for special guests,” Shu says. “I’m not a fool.”

“And you don’t believe you’re special enough?”

Shu gives him a withering look.

Wataru pouts. “Alright, turns out our esteemed guest is a no-show tonight. As such, Eichi put me in charge of finding another honored guest to gift that seat to. And who better than our number one fan?”

“The day I crush your miserable band of fools beneath my heel will be a glorious one,” Shu says.

“You may try,” Wataru says, smiling.

Shu feels the hairs rise on the back of his neck. With Wataru’s playful attitude he often forgot, but this _was_ Eichi’s right hand. He should not speak so freely around him.

“Oh, look at that face,” Wataru says. “I’ve gone and put you in defensive mode. Come now, no extra costs or hidden costs, just accept the gift. I haven’t the faintest why you keep coming back for more when your face says that you hate this and us more than anything else in the world, but you might as well experience it in comfort.”

“Fine,” Shu snaps. Wataru bows and gestures in the direction of the seat and Shu stomps past him, weaving through patches of families and couples chattering amongst themselves about the freak show. Shu climbs up the makeshift ladder and settles himself into the seat. It’s the only one in the house with a cushion and Shu is grudgingly grateful for the comfort.

He scans the crowd for Eichi, but of course he wouldn’t show his filthy nose to the crowd before his time to shine. Wataru is riling up the crowd with magic tricks and jokes, more than one child clinging to his leg. He’s got a smile on his face as he releases doves into the air, carefully grasping one in his hand and bringing it down low so one of the children can stroke its feathers.

 _What are you doing here_ , Shu thinks. _You’re not like them at all, are you?_

It’s hard to hear over the chatter of the crowd, but Shu can make out the distinct sound of Tori’s whip cracking against the air in the background. His fingers curl into a fist and he crosses his legs, glowering at Wataru in favor of thinking about what that whip could be laying siege to.

Shu doesn’t have to wait long. He’s part of the tail end of the guests, and as the final villagers file into the tent, circus members around the outside douse the torches so that the only light comes from the ring of torches around the stage. Members at the front of the stage turn mirrors to bounce light across the tent before finally settling on the center stage. On the same beautiful man from the painted billboard.

“Tenshouin,” Shu hisses.

Eichi smiles, as gentle as the brush of feathers over skin. He’s in all white—a Western-style suit as unusual as his pale hair and eyes. Eichi holds out his gloved hands. “Welcome,” he says. “Ladies, gentlemen, children. Friends, all of you.”

He turns to cast his eyes over the entire audience. “I am the Director of this event, Tenshouin Eichi, and I welcome you all to my circus, to _fine_. I hope that you will accept my offer of companionship, at least for the night. I thank you all for coming and for taking a chance on my…admittedly obscure show of the supernatural.

“These beasts and beings are from my private collection, gathered from all across Japan. I have spent my years hunting down tales of youkai and legends until I found the source—the real creatures. When I say these beings are the real deal, I mean that they are the gods and creatures of fantasy. They are real, and quite dangerous.”

Eichi’s smile brightens. “That being said, you have nothing to fear. Under this tent, no harm will befall you, no matter how terrifying the monster on stage. All of my youkai have been properly tamed and trained to obey their handlers. They’re here to entertain all of you, not to hurt you. That being said, the show can be frightening at times, so don’t be afraid to look away.”

He claps his hands together. “Before I leave the stage to my far more capable left hand, I want to promise all of you one thing: everything you see is real. You may look for tricks or traps all you please, for makeup and straps and glue, but all of my youkai are the real deal. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the spectacle.” He gestures to the side of the stage. “Allow me to introduce the ringmaster and my most trusted companion, Hibiki Wataru. I entrust all of you to his care. Please enjoy.”

Eichi bows to polite claps, and steps off the stage, Wataru taking the stage in his place. Shu tunes out Wataru's enthusiastic greeting in favor of glaring holes in Eichi’s back as he moves towards the tent flap, coughing into his hand. Shu was no good with a bow and arrow, but if he had one at this exact moment…

Pausing as he lifts the tent flap, Eichi looks behind him. His eyes run over the crowd and up Shu’s seat until Eichi meets his eyes in the dim light, locks their gazes. Shu’s entire body goes cold. A smile spreads slow across Eichi's face and he dips his head to Shu, the corner of his lip turned up. He disappears behind the tent flap before Shu can snarl anything and he grips the armrests of his seat, nails digging into the wood.

“And with no further ado,” Wataru says onstage, “I give you our first act of the night—the twin oni!”

Two red-haired youkai do a series of backflips and cartwheels onto the stage as Wataru disappears off to the side. They perform a series of acrobatic stunts while musical performers off to the edges of the tent play drums and koto and flutes. Shu squints at the twins. He doesn’t recognize them—new acquisitions of Eichi’s then? He didn’t recall Eichi possessing any oni the last time he’d come to the circus.

The twins introduce themselves as Hinata and Yuta, twin pairs of horns growing from their foreheads and curving backwards into a magnificent set that would be standard of oni. From their lowers jaws, too, protrude two massive canines, clean and white. They’re sure to smile and show off their teeth as they give their self-introduction, leaning down and snarling at the guests in the front rows. They’re wearing colorful, patterned kosode that they can move easily in which also serve as to identify the differences between them.

The twins continue their acrobatics into a series of tricks involving balancing and juggling. Yuta starts by juggling balls, which then shift mid-air into knives, and then again into fireballs, which he pretends burn his hands as he juggles, dancing around the stage and earning laughs from the children. Hinata walks across a tightrope, wobbles, and then falls—only to hover in the air, feet on the side of the wire, righting himself and wiping his brow as if that were a close call rather than a supernatural feat.

For a moment, Shu forgets the reality of the circus. The twins smile so easily and carry with them a playful energy that infects everyone under the roof of the tent. He forgets that these are captured, enslaved youkai, held against their will. For a moment, Shu actually smiles when the twins pretend to run into each other and then chase each other around the stage on all fours, head-butting each other in the butt with their horns. He forgets, until he notices the loose chain attached to an unobtrusive cuff around their ankles.

And then, he can’t take his eyes off of them. Their chains are longer and less sturdy than the chains he’s seen put on other youkai—these ones could be snapped easily and allow for a great range of movement around the stage to suit their act. He follows the length of the chain to the link attached to a massive block of stone off the edge of the stage, where all of the youkai’s chains would be attached. And he understands. There’s a seal on their chains, a spell cast on it that says ‘unbreakable.’ Even if those twins tried to snap the chain, the magic prevented them from doing so.

Of course. Eichi would never risk letting his possessions get out of control.

Foolish of Shu to think there could be anything good about this circus. The twins move agilely and without any sprains or injuries he can detect, but Tori’s whip could fall on them as easily as it could fall on the other youkai. Shu berates himself for letting his guard down and resolves to keep a closer eye.

The following acts are unsurprising. There’s the merman who is rolled up the stage in a tank and allowed to swim around while the musical ensembles play delicate music to match his fragile appearance. He blows bubbles into the air and allows them to float through the air, children reaching to pop them. As a finale, he leaps from his tank and into the air, splattering water across the closest seats. Unlike the twins, he does not smile and his tail lashes as he is wheeled off the stage.

There’s the example of a maneater—the vampire child. Wataru assures all the assembled that the prey item in question is a convicted felon offered a shortened sentence for participating in the show. The vampire child is dressed in clothes Shu recognizes as from England—a fine suit in black that compliments his dark hair and makes his red eyes flash. Before he sinks his teeth into his prey, the man is allowed to roam free across the stage—as far as his own chain would permit, of course. The vampire child’s eyes do glow as he parts his lips to scent the air. He bares his fangs and in a flash, he’s across the stage and sinking his teeth into the felon’s throat. The felon goes limp beneath him and the vampire drinks greedily, giving up only when a handler calls him away. He’s purposefully, dramatically messy—blood dribbling down his chin and staining the white of his shirt and cravat.

There’s the mushussu, the beast from Mesopotamia, with the head and body of a Japanese dragon, deep purple scales and mane running down its back with the horns of a deer, long whiskers, and golden eyes, but the forelegs of a great cat and the hindlegs of an eagle. The mushussu doesn’t do much—there’s a dancing performance that accompanies him which involves again, music and women in graceful kimonos dancing around and riding the mushussu as he swings his head and trots around the stage in time with the music.

Shu notices some new acts as well—a timid, green-eyed obake kept in a small cage plastered in seals to keep him inside. That one does little more than wail a mournful song that covers Shu’s skin in gooseflesh and makes him want to look away, although he cannot take his eyes from the spirit that fades in and out of view, head cast down. There’s a fire monkey spirit of an entirely different mood—this one playful like the twins. He takes on the persona of a ninja and climbs off the stage and around the tent, jumping from pole to pole and across bars strung up over the audience. He is pursued by a fireball monster of his own creation and barely escapes by the skin of his teeth, hanging from a bar by his tail. Shu takes notes of the collar covered in seals around his neck and grimaces.

And then, the penultimate act. The star of the show is always the massive wolf and the tengu duo who jump and dive through flaming hoops at Eichi’s behest, dueling each other as they move. Perhaps Eichi had given one of them their own act to space out the show, although the audience couldn’t have been more enthralled than they already were.

“I do hope all of you, my wonderful friends, have enjoyed the show so far,” Wataru says. “And since it’s such a lovely night, we’ve taken the liberty of shedding some of that celestial light upon this show.” Wataru gestures to the roof of the big top, which pulls apart at the center, right over the stage, revealing moon and starlight, shining down into the tent. A soft melody picks up as each of the torches around the stage are extinguished one by one and the mirrors are adjusted, reflecting the moonlight upon the empty center stage. The audience shifts with anticipation. And then, the next act arrives.

Shu’s breath catches. This one is new. This one is definitely, definitely new.

She takes her time moving towards the stage, one delicate step at a time. The kimono she wears is long and heavy, without a doubt several layers deep, and it drags behind her. The pattern is exquisite—at the ends of her sleeves and the train is a storm of ravens, beaks and wings flailing, feathers wheeling upwards across the white of the fabric. But then white bled into light blue, which bled into darker blue, which bled into deep blue and black, creating a gradient not unlike the sky just after the sun has set. Under the beautiful outer layer are fabrics of every shade of blue, contrasting against the golden bangles and single crow feather dangling from her ears. Her hair was not done up like nobility, but left to fall in her face and over her shoulders, curling every which way.

 _A princess_ , Shu thinks. _A princess fallen from grace._

The musicians pick out a delicate song as she approaches, as fragile as her thin frame and pale suggest she is. She climbs the stairs to the stage with slow steps and approaches the center before sinking to her knees, head still tilted downwards. And then, she looks up. She looks to the right, away from Shu, and Shu hears a collective gasp from the audience, rising as she scans the audience. She turns to face Shu’s side of the audience and Shu feels his own breath catch in his throat.

 _Those are not the eyes of a human_ , he thinks. _Those are the eyes of a goddess._

One a blue as the colors of her kimono, the other the same striking gold as the bangles in her ears. For a second, Shu swears their eyes meet, and then she tilts her head back, stretches out her arms, and begins to sing.

And for the second time that night, Shu’s breath catches again.

Her voice—no, _his_ voice—is deep and rich, carrying across the tent and brushing against Shu’s ears as smoothly as silk might. He sings more beautifully than any man Shu had ever heard, even in his years of singing with Kuro and with the boys’ choir when he visited England. No boy or man had a voice as crisp and enthralling as the man on stage, dressed as a fallen princess.

 _At the end of the artificial paradise, deep, deep at the earth’s bottom_ , the man sings. _All alone I sing these prayers; the fate that’s written in the song_.

 _This is cruelty_ , Shu thinks, as he listens to the song. _You can hear his pain in his song._

Forced to live in a false haven, singing endlessly for a heartless master, with no hope of ever escaping a sealed fate—how could Eichi demand he sing such a song? Shu understands what it looks like. This man is playing the role of a princess who has fallen from grace. The audience is enraptured by the story. But there is truth in what he sings. This man—this youkai—is a prisoner who sings for the entertainment of these people without rest or freedom.

The man tilts his head back, moonlight spilling across his nose and cheeks. His eyes reach for the sky—Shu can feel it. He can feel his yearning to be one with the night sky, to flee into it. One hand clutches at his chest while the other reaches for an impossible dream. His hand closes around air and he falls forward, the music dying.

Shu shoots forward, almost flinging himself from his seat along with half the audience. Had the man collapsed? But no, the music is still playing softly, softly. His palms on the ground, the man rises, hair falling in tendrils around his face. He sits back on his knees as the music rises and he reaches for his shoulders. Gently, he pushes back the kimono, revealing the pale skin of his shoulders.

 _No_ , Shu wants to say. _You’re royalty, you shouldn’t—_

And then murmurs rise from the audience as pale skin gives way to solid black. Shu squints, but he can’t quite make out what’s on the man’s back. He doesn’t need to squint long: with one flick of the limb, the man shakes out a black-feathered wing. Another flick, and the other wing appears.

 _A tengu_ , Shu thinks. _Of course_.

But this tengu was not like the other, tawny one with sharp claws and screeches in his throat. This one kept his wings folded and close to his body, in fact, he used them as shields, hiding his face and his body from the audience as he curled into himself. He becomes as small as possible, wrapped in his wings, then the music picks up again and he flares them out, voice rising with his wings, to finish the song.

This time, his movements are enhanced by the flick of wings and the sweep of feathers. Each beat of his wings sends a rush of wind across the tent, even though his wings never fully extend. The kimono slides down to his elbows, baring his back and chest and he sings like the fallen princess he is, near stripped of his clothing and his pride, trapped forever.

Shu thinks of the way this tengu had reached for the night sky, and how the ends of his primary feathers shake as they stretch for the sky full of stars.

And then it’s over, the youkai finishing his song by curling his wings around himself as he wraps his arms around himself. It’s the tengu who receives the greatest applause of the evening, but he’s also the fastest to snap his wings to his back, tucking them under the kimono and pulling it over them, hurrying off the stage much quicker than he had taken to it.

The next act is the finale, lighting the stage on fire as Eichi returns. He is joined by a tengu who flies, his black talons wrapping around the bars suspended in air and massive tawny wings beating hard enough to blow the guests’ hair wild, and the dark grey wolf from the billboard, snarling and bucking at his handlers as he’s manhandled onto the stage, standing at nearly twice Eichi’s height. They are the finale, the spectacular conclusion to the circus that was _fine_ , but Shu can’t get his mind off the tengu in the kimono and his haunting voice.

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

Mika spaces out as his costume is removed. The handlers are rough with him, peeling off his earrings and stripping the kimono layers from him, leaving him naked. Mika doesn’t really care about being naked in front of these people—he’s just a puppet after all—but one of them brushes his wings and Mika flinches, crouching away from the touch and flattening his wings to his back.

The handler isn’t amused. He grunts and grabs Mika by the bad of his neck, hauling him up and ripping the kimono from him, tearing out several covert feathers in the process. Mika flinches and the handler shoves him away, muttering “freak” under his breath. Another handler returns his kosode to him and Mika slips it on mechanically, shielding his wings as quickly as possible and looking down to avoid stares at his eyes. He digs his useless, stubby claws into his palms.

“Come on.” It’s the woman from earlier. She exchanges his ankle chain for a neck chain again. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Mika nods jerkily. The sooner he gets to his carriage, the sooner he’s away from the prying eyes of other people and he can preen his torn feathers back into order. She leads him out of the costume tent and towards the carriages.

It’s usually quiet backstage, but Mika hears the ruckus before he sees it.

“Now Shu, I know you’re a fan—er, or not—but you can’t come marching back here like—”

“Get out of my _way_ , Wataru, I have to speak with Tenshouin.”

“And how do I know you won’t just straight up murder him, hmm? You’re looking rather _passionate_ , Mr. Doll Maker.”

The woman slows up, putting Mika behind her as they approach the commotion. Mika appreciates the protection and shrinks into her shadow.

It’s the ringmaster with one of the guests—at least Mika guesses he’s a guest. He has a shock of pink hair and is dressed much like the ringmaster and the other big bosses might dress, although he wears dark colors and his face is curled into a snarl like Koga’s—not at all the light colors and easy smiles of _fine_.  Mika tries to make himself even smaller.

“Wataru,” the mystery man says. “I am not in the mood to play games with you. Here—search me if you must, but I _insist_ on speaking to Tenshouin before you move on.”

“You know, most people would have to pay a fee of some kind to meet with the Director—”

“Cut the bullshit. Where is he?”

“Retiring, probably, after such a stressful show. It takes a toll on him, as you know.”

“It won’t take five minutes—”

“Oh my, oh my,” Eichi says, emerging from a different tent, behind the arguing men. They both turn to face him, turning their backs on Mika and his handler. Eichi’s eyes skip over the men and straight to Mika and the woman, who both tense. He gives a tiny nod, smiling, before turning back to the other men. “I’m always pleased to speak with an old friend. How may I help you, Itsuki-san?”

“Fuck you,” ‘Itsuki-san’ says immediately.

“Let’s go,” Mika’s handler whispers to him. “That looks dangerous.”

Mika nods. They head towards his carriage, but not before Mika hears the angry, pink-haired man say: “It’s about that new tengu of yours—the one that can sing. I have a proposal.”

Mika freezes in his tracks, but his handler tugs at his chain. “Don’t listen to them,” she says. “That’s none of either of our business.”

Mika follows, but his heart thumps loud enough for him to hear it. _What could that ferocious man want with him?_

 

\--------------------------------------

 

“It’s about that new tengu of yours—the one that can sing,” Shu says. “I have a proposal.”

“Oh, a deal,” Eichi says. “I love making deals.”

“I want to buy him off of you,” Shu says. Next to him, Wataru sputters.

Even Eichi’s eyes widen. He covers his mouth and lets out a half-laugh. “Oh? Oh my, what’s this? Do my ears deceive me? Has Itsuki Shu come to see my side?”

“What are you talking about?” Shu growls.

“You want to buy a precious pet off of me,” Eichi says. “Are you perhaps thinking of becoming a collector like me?”

“ _Fuck_ no,” Shu swears. “I want nothing to do with your vulgar and inhumane practice of keeping sentient creatures as hostages.”

“Good,” Eichi says, dropping his hand. “Because you can’t afford him anyway.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Shu says. “Name your price. You know that my wealth matches, if not exceeds yours. How much for the tengu?”

“Ah, Itsuki-san, how naïve!” Eichi tuts. “You see, it’s not just a matter of monetary value—although I’m sure you witnessed firsthand how valuable that boy is to me. Even you were enraptured by his beauty, weren’t you? And he sings just like a songbird…no, Itsuki-san, that boy has emotional, sentimental value to me as well.”

“Impossible,” Shu says. “You can’t have had him for more than a few years.”

“Untrue,” Eichi says. “I’ve had him for most of his life, actually. It’s only recently that he grew big enough and well-behaved enough to be put on display is all. He’s my very first tengu.”

“You have the tawny one,” Shu says. “The one that is one of the stars of your show. What use do you have for an underfed brat when you can replace him with a different, unique youkai?”

“If he’s of no value, then why do you want him?” Eichi asks.

Shu grits his teeth. “That’s none of your business.”

Eichi taps his chin. “While I’m not interested in selling him, I wouldn’t be opposed to a trade. See, a while back I lost something dear to me—a bakeneko cub. Now, I’m sure you would have no idea how that came to pass, but if you were to, say, know the whereabouts of said cub or perhaps an adult bakeneko with a silky cream coat—”

“ _Leave her out of this_ ,” Shu hisses. “Sentient creatures are off the table.”

Eichi sighs and holds up his hands in a ‘what can you do’ pose. “I don’t know what to tell you then, dear Itsuki-san. You must meet my terms halfway in order for us to have a deal.”

“Then stop making ridiculous demands you know I’ll never meet,” Shu snaps. “I _know_ you don’t value that boy as much as you claim to. I don’t know why, and I don’t care. I told you I’m willing to pay any price, so name it.”

“Hmm,” Eichi says, tapping his chin. “How about this: I’ll give you him for free.”

“Eh?” Shu says.

“Eichi?” Wataru says.

“No, I mean it,” Eichi says. “I’m curious—what use does a doll maker and imported fashion shopkeeper have for a tengu?”

“Like I said, that’s none of your business,” Shu says.

“But I want to know,” Eichi presses. “He’s a broken doll, you know. When he was young he had fire and spunk, and I enjoyed looking at him. But lately he’s little more than a puppet—a broken toy that dances mindlessly as its master commands. His voice and his eyes are empty of life. I thought a master of dolls would recognize one shattered beyond repair, but perhaps you’re not the master craftsman you claim to be?”

“That’s a boy you’re talking about,” Shu says through gritted teeth. “That youkai thinks and lives and breathes like we do. Are you really content to treat him like a possession?”

“Of course not,” Eichi says. “All my children are precious to me, even the broken ones. It breaks my heart to give him up to you.”

Shu scowls. “What do you want?”

Eichi raises his hands. “Nothing. I’ll give him to you free. All I reserve is the right to check in on him later to see just what you’ve done with my precious pet. I won’t hurt him. I won’t take him back. I’m just…curious.”

Shu eyes him warily. “No hidden catches?”

“None,” Eichi says, crossing his heart.

Shu takes a breath and holds out his hand. “Then we have a deal.”

Eichi shakes his hand, smile never faltering for a second.

**Author's Note:**

> [don't @ me over the song mika sings okay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_95P3xiYT8)
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